


see the dark it moves

by akitania (spacehairdresser)



Series: to know collapse [2]
Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exorcist Politics, M/M, Mild D/S undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 07:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11550069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehairdresser/pseuds/akitania
Summary: Matoba Seiji, displaced heir presumptive of his clan, makes a political maneuver. Natori Shuuichi, only nominally-ambitious upstart, considers the axiom that politics is personal.





	see the dark it moves

**Author's Note:**

> This was a tumblr promptfic (prompt: "Things you said when you were drunk"), but because it is a part of the To Know Collapse series, I'm posting it here separately.
> 
> (I recommend reading "with a chip of mirror in his eye" first. Although there's not, like, a plot connection, this ficlet is also vaguely related to [_this_](http://akitania.tumblr.com/post/160622310601/qserasera-defeateddetectives-akitania).)

The guest of honor barely speaks a word all night. He could be a doll painted in the wrong hues, splashes of green and a shock of silver uncannily bright and pale against his family’s habitual blacks, and he stares through every visitor who tries to wish him well. Shuuichi watches from his unwelcome distance and is bored.

There are times when Shuuichi thinks Seiji could be a doll as well, with the stasis of his crooked expressions and thoughts, but tonight he has been given an additional dash of color where maybe an overzealous artist looked to soften the glasswork of his face with a wash of high, hectic pink. Lurking vulpine and slightly unsteady behind Takashi, he looks jarringly unlike the boy his father stole to replace him.

The languorous unspooling of his thoughts suggests that Shuuichi should pause and take stock of himself. He does, and decides that he is somewhat drunk as well. The evening has been interminable and no one has wanted to talk to him. He feels a grudging kinship with Seiji, stranded among guests who have all come to congratulate his little brother. Warmed by generosity and wine, Shuuichi decides to commit an act of mercy.

It’s surprising how easily Seiji follows him, listing into the barest touch of his arm.

Sitting outside, it is easy to breathe. It is easy as well to ignore Seiji, whose ego is bruised and who needs to enumerate every slight he has suffered. Shuuichi makes his listening face. He can hold it indefinitely while trying to remember a line, and, all circumstances considered, it is surprisingly easy to substitute a tipsy and disgruntled exorcist with a pretty actress.

(One of several secrets Shuuichi will take to the grave is this: He has, on occasion, made mental substitutions for pretty actresses as well, invariably making them taller, giving them sharper faces and crueler smiles.)

He’s not sure what motivated, what is motivating, his kindness tonight, nor is he sure whether he’s balancing or unbalancing the back-and-forth of their transactional non-friendship. In either case, the scale will never weigh out — even Seiji humiliated is too proud to ask anything of Shuuichi.

Just as he thinks that, Seiji says, “I want you to help me.”

Seiji humiliated and  _drunk_ , perhaps, is desperate enough to overcome the impotence of his pride. “Really. What with?”

Instead of answering, Seiji traces the edge of the engawa, his bearing unfamiliar in its lack of intention. Shuuichi reads the words _never mind_ in Seiji’s abstracted expression, but gets a response after just a moment too long. “My dear brother.”

“What could he need help with? He’s an exceptional talent.”

That is sardonic enough to deserve a disdainful expression, and Shuuichi is prepared for one, but Seiji yelps a coarse laugh. “Isn’t he, though. But not made for leadership, don’t you think?”

Shuuichi thinks of Matoba Takashi, the bright doll with hollow green eyes. He would not be so strange and charming with one missing. “I agree. And why do you think this mediocre upstart can help you against your father’s own decision?”

Seiji leans back, finds nothing to stop his decline but his own elbow, and folds into an awkward posture. “You’re ambitious, for one. You’re smart.” His mouth twitches. “But you’re not as smart as me. So you can politic against whoever you want and the only one you won’t beat is me.”

Under Seiji’s slightly fractured coherence, there is a streak of romanticism that makes Shuuichi want to laugh. What picture does he have of Shuuichi as some kind of shadowy advisor? What does he think Shuuichi wants?

More pressing, what does Seiji want that makes his eyes glint like that, that makes the hand that grew tired of running along the border of the veranda drift into the space between them?

Shuuichi wants, in that moment, to deny him, just for the novelty. He wants a  _no_  more for its own sake than the sake of refusing this mad and tempting alliance. “I’m not interested in politics, though. You know that.”

“You want power.” Seiji’s voice is flat. Shuuichi considers the possibility that this, in fact, is what he wants.

He says something worse and more ridiculous than anything Seiji has said tonight, or ever. “Would you beg me?” 

The pink in Seiji’s cheeks deepens several shades. 

“Would you beg me to help you?”

He sits up fast, hair falling in his face, and the desire to laugh that Shuuichi felt a moment ago is gone. “Forget it all. I’m drunk.”

“I’m aware.”

“I’m not sure why I thought you would — could. I’m not—” Seiji is standing with more grace than Shuuichi would expect, his face thrown into light. It is red and his eyes are hungry.

Outside himself, Shuuichi thinks of all the ways this has been a mistake, and projects a few more. “Don’t go inside,” he suggests. “It’ll be worse.”

Something is retreating inside of Seiji, disappearing behind his lids as he blinks. “If you want me to stay with you,” he says, precise and cold, “You’ll have to ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I do feel mildly guilty that my first additional piece of the AU is... this...
> 
> Title is from "Drunk Walk Home" by Mitski.


End file.
